


A Thread for the Daily Drabbles

by AngieO131



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Random Prompts, Reminders, daily drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:45:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngieO131/pseuds/AngieO131
Summary: So now that I have a desk again and can write without my body hating me, I'm going to start doing daily drabbles to get me back into the swing of things. No promises that I'll make every day or that I'll have long drabbles. I'm hoping that as time goes by I'll start picking back up where I left off and write more. I'll update tags and rating as I go. Follow along if you like!





	1. Reminders

What lingers are the little things- laughter, hobbies, conversations. Anyone can remember someone's name or age, hair colour or favourite colour, but it takes someone special to have you memorizing the small things. For instance, even at their saddest you know the way their laughter tinkles through the air when they've been caught off guard with a joke or the way their voice breaks around guffaws as good conversation rolls through the night. Even in the shadows, you know the way sunlight gleams in their hair, tinting the colour into hues different than the customary descriptors: black tilting towards blue, red flaring into flame, golden creating halos of yellow, brown cascading in waves of chocolate and caramel. Even as they sleep, you dream of the glints of golden hidden in the green, flecks of grey scattered in the blue, the hard bite of their angry stare and the gentle haze after crying. At their most somber, you can recall the conversations of silly origin, designed to uplift your mood, their crazy antics as teens and the happy times where their smile was blinding. At their weakest, you can still feel the strength in their touch and the fierce protectiveness in their vulnerability.

When distance parts you, it's these things that linger, tearing at your heart with longing. Shades of colour cause a stirring of memory, sounds of laughter create voids of cravings, words strike open memories and drown you in the world where you were together. It's after distance grows that you see the importance of these little things that carved a niche so deep that it became part of your soul- forever there to never be forgotten.


	2. Prompt: Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I mentioned doing this and then... never did. There's a lot of things that I never did that I said I would, but I'm going to change that. I stopped creating, I stopped caring, and I stopped working on myself. 
> 
> I'm going to start again, and writing will be one of the first things that I change. So here's part two. 
> 
> **REMINDER** There is no promise of these being long. Just little prompts to get me back into the swing of writing. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3

Prompt: Death

It's the word that strikes fear into the heart of loved ones, that makes a hush fall over a crowd. It's a tangible force so potent that you can reach out and touch it as it curled in melancholy tendrils around those left behind. The colour black masks its rivers of tears and shrouds the shivers of loneliness, the shaking of innocent bystanders. It can be seen in the gasps of breath, the broken whispered affections before the untimely, bitter end.

And yet...

It can be seen in a blaze of red, orange and brown. It can be smelled in the crispy, nipping air of Fall as those who trek out to their normal routine days celebrate the coming of cool breezes and burning trees. Children run through the piles of decaying life, screaming in joy and screeching with laughter. The death of a planet, so normal, so joyous, so wonderful and welcomed. 

But then...

Its presence means it's opposite for what is death without life and life without death. A rotating circle of never-ending possibilities where both laughter and sobbing, screaming in joy and wailing in loneliness stand hand in hand, watching as the world turns once more. A new day, a new night; a new dawn, a new dusk; a new life to rejoice and a new death to mourn.

It brings happiness and sadness to those that tread the Earth in an otherwise monotonous world where little else is different. A fear of the short, ticking clock for what is a century in the face of the age of the universe. A fear that life will be cut short too short. A fear to not take risks or else clipping the cord yourself.

And yet...

For all you can wish for is a century; a grain of time that is smaller than a grain of sand on a beach. It's there to remind you that life is to be enjoyed to the fullest for who knows when that day will be the last? The last black shroud of mourning, the last red leaf to fall around you, the last burnt out candle of the night, or the last food you shall partake. 

Death wishes nothing but for those it takes to live, to experience a world that it can never fully be a part of for it's purpose is just to take, not give, not live, not flourish. Death calls for you to experience a world where the worst possibility is death, to return to its warm, caressing embrace and share with it what you have experienced and seen.

Death wishes nothing... but for life.


End file.
